


Heart's Desire

by coldfiredragon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magical Binding, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Season 2, Solitary Confinement, except that Quentin and Eliot dated, queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11208909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon/pseuds/coldfiredragon
Summary: "Duty will bind you.  Your heart can set you free."





	Heart's Desire

Eliot isn't sure how many weeks or months pass between the fairy invasion of Fillory and the moment that he finds himself in now. The time had been spent in a quiet cell in the Whitespire dungeons with nothing but his thoughts for company, and the ultimatum the fairy Queen had given him. He can either surrender his crown and claim as High King willingly... and go home, which he doesn't believe for a second he'll be allowed to do, or they'll execute him. 

He'd immediately refused to step down willingly. He had given too much of himself to Fillory in his short time as king to hand over the throne just because magic is gone. Eliot had expected the execution to happen shortly after that, but they had left him to sit instead. Maybe they had hoped the isolation would make him cave. Maybe they actually NEEDED him to give up his crown, though without magic he doesn't see how anything could still bind him to the throne as he had been before. 

To keep from going insane, he'd spent the time practicing the motions of lifeless spells. The repetition helped keep him keep a calm mask. He had treated the isolation the way all of them had treated it when they had flown to Brakebills South. He is almost grateful for that time, because he'd survived being locked alone in a small room once, and could survive it again. The times when he'd been too exhausted to practice had been the worst because sleep hadn't come easy. 

To sleep he'd had to trick his brain into believing that someone lay beside him, either Quentin or Margo, it hadn't mattered. He would close his eyes and imagine what it felt like to hold them. He'd imagine Quentin's breath against his throat, his boyfriend's hand on his hip, the smaller man's mouth pressing against his jaw and as long as he didn't open his eyes to break the fragile illusion he'd manage to sleep for a few hours. 

Now he's being escorted from his cell towards the throne room. In all likelihood, he'll be dead within an hour, and he should probably pray. Quentin had told him enough about the Underworld and the afterlife for him to know that there is one. There's a possibility that peace might await him, but with two dead by his hand and the plot to help kill a god as black marks against him he doesn't hold much hope. Who would he pray to anyway? The Christian god his parents had worshiped? He sure as hell won't pray to the ones that took magic from the world. 

The throne room doors open on their own and his eyes snap to the massive spell glyph drawn on the smooth stone floor. His eyes dart back and forth across it as he tries to figure out what it will do. The forms of fairy magic are so different from the mathimatical forms that he's learned. 

“You're tenacity has impressed us.” The fairy queen tells him as she stands. Eliot wants to say something witty or sharp, but his mouth is so dry he can hardly swallow. “Put him there.” She orders. There are three empty circles, and Eliot follows the Queen's finger to the one farthest from him His escorts grab his shoulders and Eliot tries to squirm free of their hold as they yank him upward off the floor. The toes of his boots touch down in the center of the space and Eliot can feel the fine hair on his arms rising. If he wasn't about to die he might be relieved to feel such powerful magic swelling around him. 

The spell around him distracts him enough that he doesn't notice the rope coiling around his ankles until they yank against one another, and he almost falls. The near fall finally loosens his tongue, and he glares at the fairy queen. 

“Stop toying with me.” He tells her. “If you're going to kill me just do it already.” He's afraid, but he tries to keep his voice measured Her answering laugh is almost musical. 

“You are being given one final chance.” She tells him. 

“To do what?” Eliot demands. Lengths of rope curl around his wrists and Eliot grits his teeth as both arms are yanked behind his back and bound. He straightens his back and stands as still as he can. Falling would humiliate him, and he has so little pride left. “Tell me what – “

“Eliot?” Eliot almost topples over when the throne room doors open. His gaze fixes on Margo as she and Fen are led along the side of the glyph and forced down into the chairs that sit near the throne. Eliot doesn't want either of them to watch whatever is about to happen. He doesn't want his last moment with his best friend to be her witnessing what he assumes will end in his death. Eliot doesn't want Fen to see that he's terrified. 

He wants a moment to tell Margo he's sorry because despite everything Fillory and Ember put them through he still loves her. If given a chance he'd apologize to Fen too, for dragging her into the train-wreck that is his life. He'd apologize for only caring about her but never loving her, for using her, for not explaining from day one that someone else already held his heart and she would never replace him. 

“Tell me what you want!” He pleads. The composed mask he'd fought for weeks to hold onto is starting to crack. The Queen walks to the edge of the raised dais her throne sits on, and Eliot sees his crown hanging from her hand. She steps off the ledge and into the air, and Eliot watches as she walks towards him without ever touching the stone floor or disturbing the glyph. The crown gets set atop the matted whorls of his hair and his heart pounds in his throat. 

The Queen's hands come together and a wide strip of black cloth materializes between her fingers as she pulls the digits apart. “Don't, please don't.” Eliot can't take a step backward without falling. He finds and holds Margo's gaze until the cloth presses over his eyes and is tied around his head. Tears soak the cloth when he feels the Queen's breath against his ear. 

“Duty will bind you. Your heart can set you free.” She blows something into his face. Whatever it is gets into his mouth and settles into his sinuses. One moment it tastes and smells like nothing. The next he's drowning in Quentin's scent. The smell of dryer fresh cotton, of old books, of Q's cologne and soap, invade his nose. He can taste cigarettes and wine, chocolate, and mint on his tongue. The blindfold quickly dampens against his eyes

“Eliot!” Margo's shout almost pulls him out of it, but Eliot has sent weeks imagining Quentin's scent. He needs to memorize it now because he knows he's never going to see him again. As much as he wants to apologize to Margo for everything gone wrong he wants to apologize to Quentin more. Eliot wants to drive it home that none of this is Quentin's fault. None of them had known that killing Ember would cost them magic. 

“El?” Eliot jerks towards the sound. Whatever the Queen had blown into his face was some form of hallucinogen because he can see Quentin standing in the circle at the other end of the glyph. Eliot forgets that his legs should be bound before he takes a step forward. For an instant, he hesitates, then reminds himself that whatever this is its an illusion. He can take all the steps he wants towards Quentin, but he's never going to get closer. He takes about six before he realizes that he's actually cutting the distance. 

“Q.” He breathes softly. Quentin looks behind him, like he's trying to figure out what is actually going on and the motion is so Quentin that Eliot has to blink away more tears. Quentin turns his back to him and he says something to someone that Eliot can't see. He tenses as he waits for an answer and then he surprises Eliot by taking a step towards him. They both move closer to one another and they stop close enough to touch, but neither of them seems brave enough to try and and reach out. Eliot is sure that if he does his hand will pass right through Quentin's form. 

“El?” Quentin asks softly.

“You're not real.” Eliot tells him. “You can't be. It's a fairy trick.” Eliot glances away from him and takes in the scenery around them for the first time. The throne room is gone and they are standing in the common room of the cottage, but someone has painted everything in the broad brush strokes and swirls one might see in a Van Gogh. The only thing he can swear is real is Quentin. 

“El...” 

“I can reach out my hand and it will go right through you.” Eliot continues, and he reaches to prove his point. Instead of air his fingers find warm skin. Moisture races down Quentin's cheek and Eliot can feel it against the dry pad of his thumb. Silky strands of Quentin's hair brush against the back of his hand as Quentin leans into the touch. 

“I'm real, El. I miss you so much. I'm sorry, I should have stayed in Fillory.”

“You were safer on Earth,” Eliot tells him. The thought of the fairies doing to Quentin what they had done to him makes him take a step closer, and his body trembles as Quentin presses up against him. Quentin's warm arms wrap around his middle. “Gods, Q.” Eliot rests his cheek against Quentin's hair. “I miss you too.” 

“Eliot, snap out of it!” Margo's voice sounds miles away, and Eliot ignores it. Quentin moves, tipping his face upward and Eliot doesn't stop to consider that there will be consequences in the kiss. It doesn't occur to him until the weight of the crown disappears from his head. He feels dizzy as the cottage sharpens and solidifies around him and he realizes that giving into his heart and kissing Quentin was exactly what the fairy Queen had hoped he would do. 

“Shit.” He whispers 

“El?” 

“Shit.” Eliot's head snaps up, and he sees a fairy with Quentin's crown for an instant before it disappears. The weight of what he's done, and what he'd been tricked into giving up settles on his shoulders and it feels heavier than the crown ever had. 

“You didn't want this.” Eliot's eyes flash to Quentin's face and the look he gets in return is the most heartbroken look Quentin has ever given him. The weight on Eliot's shoulders feels like it triples because he's not only lost Fillory but he feels like he's just lost Quentin too. 

“I love you, Q. You know I do.” 

“They were going to execute you!” Quentin pushes him away and Eliot isn't sure if he's ever seen Quentin more upset. 

“I know.” 

“They told me if I gave up my throne they would give me a chance to save you. I gave them everything they asked for, and you didn't want to be saved.” Eliot's eyes tear because he knows how much Fillory and magic mean to Quentin. He finally notices the identical glyph from the castle drawn on the floor of the cottage. He'd been in one circle, Quentin had been in the other, and Eliot had crossed dimensions to meet him in the middle. 

“I love you,” Eliot says again, but Quentin's face doesn't look any less hurt, so Eliot walks to the nearest couch and collapses onto it. It isn't much wider than the cot he's been using for months. Without his title to keep it at bay the soul crushing fear and loneliness, he's been hiding from crash into him. Quentin's wrong. He does want this. He wants it more than he can put in words. He just wishes it had happened differently. 

“What did they do to you?” Eliot sighs in relief when Quentin joins him on the couch. Q's hands cup his face and their foreheads rest against one another. Eliot's arms wrap around Quentin. He can't put what he's been through into words. How does he describe months of isolation? Amber eyes find and hold brown ones. Eliot has spent weeks remembering Quentin with his eyes closed, and he doesn't blink now until his eyes burn. 

“Thank you for saving me.” He murmurs softly. “They didn't tell me what the spell would do.” He whispers to Quentin in a voice that sounds raspy. “I thought it would kill me, not send my back to earth. I was ready, I think, on some level, because I didn't think I had a choice but to be.”

“The fairy that came to me didn't tell me how it would work either. He just showed up with my crown and told me I could save you if I gave it up.” Quentin explains. “We might have given up the chance to be Fillory's kings but I'm not giving up on saving magic.” 

“Okay.” Eliot can't begin to process how they'll go about trying to save it. “I'm so tired, Q.” He needs a shower, and a meal, and sleep before he can begin to think about what to do next. 

“Come on.” Quentin swings Eliot's arm over his shoulder and hauls him up. “I'll help you get cleaned up.” Eliot nods, at least he's alive. He can find a way fight back if he's alive. Giving up isn't an option as long as the fairies still have Margo.

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate people pointing out mistakes! Comments and kudos are love! I respond to everybody and I welcome questions.
> 
> This is going to be a one-shot, but there could be a sister one-shot where they figure out how to save Margo. I'm still working out the details of how it might work. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
